Page 53 of As the Years Pass

“I don’t think anyone has that many friends,” I say.

“I could put different pictures of you in here. That would be fun to look at.”

He walks out of Judy’s room, moving toward the table, but I freeze. It’s a silly thing to say, but for some reason, it hits me right in the chest. He’d want to look at twenty-four pictures of me?

“That sounds awful,” is what I manage to say, and then I meet him at the kitchen table.

The water is boiling, so I put in the pasta and stir it. Emmet sets up the game because a few of the pictures have slid out. The oven beeps, so I put the pizza in and set the timer.

“Do we want to put the pizza back in the oven after the mac and cheese is on it?” I ask.

He looks up at me from the dining table, eyes half-lidded, and after a moment, shakes his head. “That’ll take too long. Hungry.” He goes back to what he’s doing, fully focused on setting up the game.

I stir the pasta and stare at the timer on the oven. Something in me feels settled, comfortable. It’s after three in the morning. I’m drunk. I’m going to feel like shit tomorrow.

Yet all I can do is smile, all I can do is feel happy and light.

Especially when I look at Emmet, who is in my house, sitting at my kitchen table, preparing to play a children’s game—with me.

Could this work?

When the noodles are cooked, I strain them and make it according to the box. The pizza has only a few minutes left, so I let the mac and cheese sit and thicken up.

“This is all set,” Emmet says.

I go to the table to take a seat, and choose one of the cards that will tell me who my person is. Emmet already has his set up.

“I can’t believe we’re sitting here in the middle of the night playing Guess Who.”

“Stop complaining and take your turn,” he grumbles.

“Does your person have glasses?” I ask.

“No. Does your person have blond hair?”

He does, I think.

I glance at the card.

“No.”

We get a few questions in before the oven beeps. Emmet follows me into the kitchen. I pull the pizza out and put the stone on the stove top, when I turn to get the mac and cheese from the counter, where I left it, I see Emmet eating it. Right out of the pan.

“Really?”

“Told you I was hungry,” he says, taking another scoop with the serving spoon and shoveling it into his mouth. I hold my hand out.

“If you want it on the pizza, you’ll have to save some.”

“But it’s so good,” he groans.

The sound goes right to my dick.Fuck.

“Hand it over.”

He grumbles, but gives me the pan and the spoon. I scoop most of it onto the pizza and give him the rest. He eats it all. I cut the pizza into six pieces and manage to get one on each plate without making too much of a mess.

“This is going to be messy,” I warn.